Well, I’m fifteen now. I can’t really say whether I’m happy or sad that I’ve endured another year, but I can say I’m quite surprised that I’m still here.
A while ago I posted a short summary about when I first started feeling depressed. It seems that fairly recently things have become even worse, so maybe writing things here will help.
Before, I was just depressed. Every now and again I’d start to cry uncontrollably, though fortunately for me, not during lessons. However, I believe about a month ago I became so, so increasingly anxious I started having panic/anxiety attacks. My heart would race so much I’d have to ask to be excused before I experienced a full blown attack like in April earlier this year.
I think I preferred that time. My anxiety sort of reduced my depression, so I suppose in some ways it was nicer. Of course, feeling like I’m about to die from my chest exploding isn’t exactly a favourable feeling, but, I dunno, I just sort of liked it more than being depressed. I guess perhaps because what I hate most about feeling depressed is I nearly never had a reason to. At least if I felt upset after an attack, there’d be a solid reason.
The past week my anxiety’s started to go back to how it was before the attacks, when I was pretty much just paranoid for most of the day. I don’t suppose not being a particularly confident person to everyone apart from literally 10 people, is any help.
Some people have told me that they think this is “great news!” Only it’s far from, because now depression’s ‘taking over’ again, and I’ve started cutting deep again. Some days I’ll self harm by not cutting, because I’ve become so used to it that I know how bad things can get if I don’t cut. Again, I’ve heard how great people think this is, but I personally don’t think it is. If not cutting is also self harming, then that could suggest that I’m always self harming. But perhaps this is just my twisted, messed up mind speaking, who knows?
Anyway, moving on. The past few days have been absoloute hell. Why? I have no clue. I never did, and am quite doubtful of ever knowing. This is the thing that always annoys me to bits – not having a reason. It’s like someone telling you to like something, for example a piece of clothing, but not say why. You just have to like it. I just have to accept I’m depressed, no reason given. I hate it.
I’ve started crying for long periods of time again, to the point where my body starts shaking (Just out of curiosity, why does this happen?). I’ve felt so awful these past days, I don’t think I even felt this bad when I tried to kill myself. I didn’t even think I could feel this bad. I know there’s always the saying that ‘there’s always someone worse off’, but I never realised just how terrible I could feel. Sometimes I don’t think I’m even here anymore, to which I feel somewhat glad about.
I’ve had enough of everything. I’m always being told that I’m ‘strong’, and encouraged, ‘you can make it through’. Thing is, I’m not strong at all. If I was strong, why would I cut? Why would I cry over the most ridiculous things? And why on earth would I have to keep going to find help? I’m so sick and tired of trying, of holding on to thin air and waiting. I realise that there is no shortcut, that there are some people who only recovered after several years. But what if I simply am too exhausted to keep trying?
The counselling I’m going to now wasn’t from my own choice, but from my parents who simply don’t understand. I have always lied during every session that I was ‘forced’ to go to. The ones in the future are going to be no different. No matter how hard I try, I just don’t want to be there, and in order to get out of there quicker I only have to pretend I’m fine.
But I’m not. I’m far from. I’ve become so sick and twisted, I see everything in a different light. I don’t even think ‘light’ is the correct word to use here, everything’s just black. The only hope I have is for some bizarre luck to come to me, and I become involved in a serious accident that is of no one’s fault, so no one blames themselves for not trying to help me.
I don’t mean to sound cliche, but I honestly don’t think anyone can help me. The times I can define the source of my feelings, they’re things I can’t tell people. Not even my teacher, to who (Or is it whom? I never really found out when you use either) I tell most things to. I’m scared to even put the reasons up anonymously because I get so worried that someone I know will discover who wrote it, and come to interrogate me about it.
I can tell you this though, I think pretty soon I’m going to give up. No matter how many times people have told me to ‘hold on and get through this’, it won’t change anything. Nothing’s made me better, in fact I think everything’s made me worse. Yes, I’ve many people who care for me. Just this once, I ask that I do something purely for myself, despite how selfish it is. Why? It’s simply not worth it anymore.